Torn
by supercarXS
Summary: Danny Williams' death came as a shock to the entire team... but none were as surprised as he was. *WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AND GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE*
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Let me say up front that DANNY IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER. This is, in no way, a fic hating on him. Sometimes ya just gotta write the sad stuff, ya know?

*input spiel about non-copyright-infringement stuff*

Anyway, there is more coming, please be sure to let me know what you think... I crave feedback!

* * *

**[TORN]**

I was dead. I was really dead.

Not everyone can say that they've attended their own funeral, and to be honest, I'm not sure if that's something I should brag about. I guess if you really thought about it hard enough you could rationalize the fact that, yes, everyone DOES attend their own funeral in some way, shape, or form. But see, most dead people don't consciously _know_ they're dead, or that a funeral's even being held for them, so I don't think that counts. Just because your body's there doesn't mean you are.

But _I _was there.

Not in the way that most people would think, but damn it, I was there. And it hurt. Hurt me bad to see the tears being shed for _me._ I just wanted to jump into the middle of the service with my arms spread wide and scream, _Hey idiots, I'm here! What the hell are you cryin' about? I'm. Right. HERE._

But I couldn't. Partly because I didn't have the nerve to do such a thing, and partly because, well, I was dead.

No one could see me. No one could hear me. No one had any idea that I was, in fact, standing directly behind them, watching my most trusted friends give tear-stained speeches about how great I was and how much they would miss me. Strange, I thought. They didn't seem to appreciate me that much when I was _alive._ What is it about death that suddenly makes people so fond of the deceased?

"Damn it," I cursed loudly, half-expecting the crowd to turn around and glare at me and tell me to shut the hell up because I was interrupting my own funeral. But of course no one heard me, and that just made me want to curse more. I was _there_, damn it. I could see every single one of them, but they couldn't see me. No one could see me. I walked over to an empty chair and used the back of it as an armrest, staring straight ahead.

No one could see me. I was dead.

I didn't look any different. My hair was still perfectly combed back . I ran a hand through it to confirm. I was still wearing the same outfit I had when I had died: a white shirt with blue pinstripes – sleeves rolled up to my elbows - and khaki slacks. My gun was still sitting snugly in its holster clipped to my belt, and my badge glinted proudly in the sunlight. But the weird thing was, I could see _through _me. I stuck out a hand to test this fact, waving it back and forth in front of my face. There was a very faint image of the background through my hand, as if I had painstakingly tattooed every detail of the scene into my flesh. I dropped my hand, disgusted. This is what I was doomed to be for eternity? A literal ghost of my former self?

I guess, I thought, once again dropping my gaze to study my shirt, I could take comfort in the fact that it was perfectly clean and free of the scarlet mark of death. There was so much blood, I mused. Who knew I had so much blood in me. Or that I could stay alive long enough to watch all that blood flow out.

I shook it off, and with a sigh, I rested my head on my arms and looked once again up onto the stage that had been hastily thrown together in preparation for the funeral. There was a nice wreath placed over a blown-up picture of me – the picture that was on my Five-0 ID. I still couldn't decide if I liked it or hated it. At least my hair looked good, I thought. But that stiff smile just wasn't _me._ Out of all the pictures on this planet that represented my personality, they had to choose that one. Oh well.

Suddenly the entire crowd went deathly quiet, and one by one, my team filed onto the stage. They kept their heads bowed, trying to hide their obvious tears. All except one.

Steve McGarrett held the eye of what seemed to be every person in the crowd gathered to mourn my death. He didn't shed a tear, yet the hardened expression that his face usually bore was gone.

Instead he just looked… tired. Pale. Drained.

But it was the distant, _dead_ look in his eyes that struck me harder than the bullet that had killed me.

I bit my lip hard enough so that I should have tasted blood, but I didn't. Ghosts don't bleed, after all...


	2. Chapter 2

_We had been chasing the guy – Darren Black - for a few days now. It was almost like he didn't exist. Every lead we had ended in a dead end. It was only a matter of time before we caught him, though. And I was looking forward to bouncing his head off the wall when we caught him. The bastard had pulled a gun and shot a passing motorist in the middle of a busy intersection before tossing the body and making off with the car. We didn't know why he did it, and to be perfectly honest I'm not sure why Five-0 cared enough to track him, but who was I to question McGarrett? When he said we had to go after someone, damn it, we listened._

_We finally thought that we had a valid lead. An anonymous source had led us to an abandoned auto shop in the middle of a run-down town completely surrounded by overgrown jungle. The plan was for Steve and I to break in first while the rest of the team followed as backup. We geared up for the bust and jumped into the safety of my silver Camaro's interior. Steve slid behind the wheel, while I reluctantly took my place in the passenger seat. _

_"Will I ever get to drive my car?" I asked jokingly as he started up the engine. The Camaro shuddered to life with a powerful rumble, and Steve gave me a wicked smile._

_"Not while I'm around."_

_I rolled my eyes as he threw _my _car into reverse and backed out of the HQ's parking lot. "It's my Camaro, McGarret."_

_"Exactly. It's a Camaro, Danny. Every chance I get to drive it, I'm gonna," he shot back._

_"Then buy your own," I huffed._

_"I like my truck."_

_And that was that. I didn't really see a point in arguing with him. We'd beaten that horse to death, and, well, I have yet to meet the person who can win an argument with Steve McGarrett. _

_And so we drove on in silence. A heavy sense of anticipation hung thick in the air around us. I was used to it. We always felt like that on our way to a potential battle, and I'd grown to actually like it. I felt like my senses were all tuned on high. I caught everything in crystal clarity, as if I'd filmed it with a high-speed camera and slowed it down enough to study every last detail._

_Toying with the edge of my bulletproof vest, I stared out of the window at the passing scenery._

_My heart beat faster and my senses became even clearer as Steve began to slow the car down. We'd reached a town – if you could call it that – completely overrun by weeds and vines and… if it was green, you could bet it'd found a place in the cracks in the street. The Camaro vibrated in protest of the uneven and malnourished road._

_Suddenly Steve jerked the poor machine quickly to the right. "This is the place," _ _he said, and I felt the Camaro skid to a halt underneath us. Surveying the area, I saw that we had arrived at a small weather-beaten auto shop that consisted of two bays and an office. Half of the office part was in shambles, the bricks lying in dusty piles around the abandoned front desk. Tires and rusty car parts littered the rubble. _

_"That's the vic's car," I said, pointing at a red Chevelle not-so-discreetly parked behind a tangle of overgrown trees."That's the one Black stole."_

_McGarrett nodded. "He's got good taste." _

_I rolled my eyes and looked over at him. _

_We made brief eye contact before he shrugged and his gaze flicked away. "I'll cover the left bay door," he said, almost in a whisper. I nodded and, on my partner's silent mark, both the Camaro's doors flung open and we jumped free of the car. Ducking low with my gun clutched to my chest, I ran and pressed my back to the dilapidated old building. The decaying bricks were cold and rough – I could feel their chill seeping through the rolled-up sleeves on my white and blue pinstriped shirt. Gritting my teeth, I prepared my gun to shoot, taking satisfaction in the dull metallic sound that came from it as everything clicked into place. McGarrett did the same, pausing a moment to listen. _

_"Get to the right bay door," he hissed, and I nodded. With that we each trotted carefully to our designated locations._

_The garage was small. Only three bays, each shut off from the rest of the world by a disintegrating garage door. The door I was supposed to cover was open a little bit, and I could see darkness slanting onto the ground. Narrowing my eyes and fingering my gun, I grabbed a hold of it. With a final glance in Steve's direction I threw it open._

_The first thing I saw was movement by the back wall._

_"Darren Black! Five-0!" I heard Steve scream. His voice echoed around the garage as I quietly slipped inside. Ahead of me I could see the dark silhouette of a man ducking behind a stack of discarded car parts. _

_"Black," I said in a low voice as I saw the figure go for what appeared to be a gun strapped to his hip. "Don't move."_

_The man froze for a second, his arm hovering over his gun as if debating what to do. I continued to walk towards him, my gun trained on his forehead. Steve fell into step beside me as we began to close in on our target. We had him. There was nowhere he could go._

_"Out in front," my partner growled, jerking his gun in the direction he wanted the enemy to move. "Come out with your hands behind your head."_

_I peered down my gun's sights as the man obeyed. He ambled out from behind the pile of dead cars, hands behind his head._

_"Toss your weapon," I hissed. He picked up his gun from its holster and threw it over the concrete floor. Steve kicked it away with the tip of his boot. "On the ground. NOW."_

_The man, who I now recognized as our target, Darren Black, knelt down with shaking legs, refusing to make eye contact with either of us. I stepped forward and wrenched his arms behind his back, reaching around for the handcuffs that were stuck in a pocket on my bulletproof vest._

_And that was when everything went wrong. _

_There was a sudden sharp metallic clang behind Steve, and he whipped around, swinging his weapon in the direction of the sound, taking his attention away from Black._

_Seeing my partner's distraction and sensing my vulnerability in trying to cuff him, Black leaped at the opportunity to escape._

_In one fluid motion, he ripped both arms out of my grasp and slammed his elbows into my stomach. I stumbled backwards from the blow as he twisted around and grabbed a hold of my ankle. I felt something give way, and glancing down with fear striking through me, I found myself staring down the barrel of my own gun… the one that I had kept in my ankle holster. The bastard had known it was there!_

_"Danny!" I heard Steve cry out in the same instant the bullet left the gun in Black's hand. I fumbled with my weapon, trying to bring it around to get a clear shot in the same motion that would carry me out of the bullet's path… but I was too late._

_I felt the impact rather than the pain at first. It was as though some invisible hand had grabbed me by the neck and violently jerked me sideways, and I found myself faltering for balance. In some distant corner of my mind, I heard the crack of another gunshot, from Steve's gun this time, and the dark form of Darren Black slumped over. Dead. _

_I slammed down hard onto my side, my mind a blank slate of shock. Every part of me felt as if it were vibrating with the impact of the bullet. Steve tossed his gun to the side and threw himself down on the ground next to where I had landed, his face draining to a sickly grey color as his eyes fell on me. I felt the warm grip of his shaking hands as he closed them around the base of my skull._

_I was suddenly very cold, as if someone had covered me with a blanket of ice. I couldn't breathe. My mind was a blur of panic. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't see straight…_

_ "Danny! Danny, stay with me, man!" the former SEAL screamed in my face, but I heard his voice as if he were standing at the other end of a very long tunnel. His hands found my neck and his fingers pressed into my flesh in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood pouring from the gaping hole that had been left in the bullet's path._

_And then… the pain._

_It only lasted for a split second, but it was the worst split second of my life. I felt like my entire body was on fire centered around my throat. I tensed up, trying to draw one last breath through my mouth, silently begging McGarrett to help me…_

_… His ashen face strained with emotion was the last thing that I saw._


	3. Chapter 3

_Less than thirty seconds after I'd been shot, my heart stopped beating. I would find out later, from watching the medical examiners' autopsy, that the official cause of death was blood loss from a severed carotid artery. _

_In other words, after the bullet struck me in the throat, I didn't stand a chance._

_Dying wasn't like I thought it would be like. I mean, one minute I was bleeding out on the floor of an abandoned auto shop, and the next, I was staring at myself bleeding out on the floor of an abandoned auto shop. There wasn't any darkness. There wasn't any bright light that people always talk about. It was literally jumping from my body to… whatever I was now. _

_I didn't feel dead. I felt fine, in fact. _

_Steve McGarrett was still bent over me. Or what used to be me. But now his bloodstained hands had found my chest. He was trying to revive me, I realized with a pang of sadness. Didn't he know it was too late? That my spirit had already left that thing lying on the floor? _

_"This is Commander McGarrett," he choked into his radio, voice cracking. "I need immediate assistance. Send paramedic ASAP. I got an officer down…" _

_Instinctively I looked around, searching for an injured officer before I realized it was me._

* * *

_The rest of the team arrived approximately three minutes after I died. Chin Ho Kelly and Kono Kalakaua were the first on the scene, and by the looks on their faces as they jumped out of the truck, I was sure they already knew. They both sprinted to where my body lay with McGarrett bent over me, his face expressionless. _

_They had to forcibly pull him away._

* * *

I shook the memories of my death away. Thinking about it made me feel weird. People talk about the grieving process and the five stages of it. I was definitely in denial, I decided, as I once again looked to the somber gathering that was the Five-0 team. None of them had spoken yet, and they appeared to be reluctant about taking the stage. At last, after what seemed like forever, Chin Ho Kelly drew in a deep breath and took a step forward up to the microphone.

"Danny Williams," he said in a somber tone. I cringed at the sadness that weighed heavily on his voice. "Danny… He was like a brother to me. He promised me he'd always have my back. He even gave me Danno's-One-Hundred-Percent-Guarantee on that, so I knew I could hold him to it." That earned a little hum of laughter from the crowd. Even I felt a smile flick at the corner of my mouth. But the mood quickly shifted as Chin continued.

"Danny was always there when I needed him, whether it was to save my ass from a crazy guy with a gun or if I just needed someone who would listen to my rants. He kept his promise, indeed… and I regret that I could not return the favor."

His words hanging heavy in the air, he stepped aside as Kono strode up to take the stage.

"Danny," she said slowly. "First off, I just want to say that I was always jealous of his hair."

Another low hum of amusement.

"But on a more serious note, I want to say that I don't think our team will be able to continue to function in the way that it did… before. He was such a comfort to have… we could always count on him to lighten the mood with his famous one-liners." She smiled a little bit, but her expression quickly fell. "Like Chin said, he was like a brother. To all of us. Sometimes I forgot that we weren't related. And, to be quite honest, I don't know what we're gonna do without him."

Her breath suddenly hitched in her throat and she turned away quickly to face Chin. I felt my heart go out to her and the others. Looking at what I'd left behind suddenly made it seem all that much worse. I closed my eyes and turned away. I just couldn't look at them anymore.

After a moment of heavy, tense silence, I heard movement up on the stage. Glancing up I saw Steve McGarrett walking up to take the microphone. The sun glanced off his black-clad shoulders as he dipped his head to stare at the ground. After a few seconds that seemed to stretch the span of a lifetime, he took a wavering breath and turned his gaze upwards and scanned the crowd.

And suddenly, his tired eyes fell on where I stood.

His entire body stiffened as if someone had applied an electric shock to his shoulder blades. I heard the breath rasp in his throat as his eyebrows furrowed, and he suddenly froze. He was looking right at me.

He… he couldn't actually _see_ me, could he?

"Danny," he said in a low voice that didn't quite sound like himself. "Danny, you weren't just my partner. You weren't just a friend. You were the guy I knew I would lay down my life for if it came to that."

I tilted my head, eyes narrowed. Unlike the others he was talking _to_ me, not _about_ me. And his eyes kept flicking over to where I stood. There couldn't be a way for him to actually see me, could there?

"But I failed you," he continued, hanging his head. "I let you down. If I hadn't gotten distracted and taken my weapon's sights off of Darren Black, he wouldn't have had the chance to grab the gun… or fire it. I'd have killed him before he could even think about harming you. It's my fault you took that bullet, Danny."

He paused a moment before going on.

"I tried to save you. I really did. But I couldn't do that, either. Not only did I allow myself to get distracted and get you shot, I couldn't keep you from… from bleeding out in my arms."

"There was nothing you _could_ have done!" I suddenly exclaimed, shooting to my feet with my teeth bared. McGarrett's eyes went wide and his head snapped in my direction…

He drew in a short, sharp breath. I could see a thousand questions reeling behind his shocked stare. I folded my arms and began to walk towards him… because I finally decided it was true.

He _could_ see me.

I attracted no other attention but his as I strode between the rows of chairs. He simply stared at me in a shocked silence as I went and stood directly in the center of everything, arms folded. Oh, God, I wanted to cry. The full impact of my death hadn't really struck me until now. I held his gaze as his usually tough demeanor faltered and began to crumble, his eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears.

And then the great Commander Steve McGarrett finally broke down.


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Never did I think that I would get much attention for this story! I was originally going to end it after three chapters but my readers who've shown their appreciation for this work have given me the inspiration to continue :) Thank you guys so much!

Had the song "Set me Free" by 8dawn on loop the entire time I was writing this. Look it up if you like low-key instrumental hybrid rock :)

* * *

I never thought I'd see the day when Steve would allow his emotions to take over… let alone cry openly in public. Yet there he was before me, tears pouring freely from both eyes, his face twisted in the unmistakable grimace of grief. His body shuddered as he bowed his head and silently sobbed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to collect himself.

I chewed my tongue, aiming for it to hurt enough to distract me from bursting into tears as well. It hurt me bad to know that I was the reason the battle-hardened McGarrett was all but screaming with the agony of loss. I guess neither of us really knew how much we meant to one another until I was gone. It's sad, really, that you never know the true value of something until it's gone…

I failed at trying to curb my own grief. I felt the hotness behind my eyes suddenly flow out, and tears that felt like fire burned into my cheeks. I closed my eyes and gave in. What was the use of fighting anymore?

The silence stretched out. I felt compassion and sorrow poisoning the air like a black cloud of pollution hanging low over the people gathered to mourn my death. I wanted to go to Steve… to walk up and touch him, place my hand on his shoulder, hug him, do _something_, but I restrained myself. I'd probably scare what little sanity he had left right out of his fatigued body.

"Danny," Steve suddenly coughed, barely getting the words past his sob-choked throat. "Danny, I'm sorry…"

* * *

I had to walk away after that. I just couldn't stand to be around any of them anymore. I was still in denial. I don't _feel_ dead, I kept saying to myself. Soon I'm going to wake up and life will be right back to normal.

But it seemed like every time I saw a tear shed for me, it made it that much more final.

So I went and sat in the driver's seat of my Camaro. I didn't even have to open the door. I just sort of stepped through like it wasn't even there. Someone – I guessed Steve – had driven the thing to the park where my funeral was being held. It was silent, offering a sort of peace to me as I ran my hands over the wheel. I'd figured out that as a spirit, I could 'pass through' things at will, but if I wanted to physically pick something up, I could do it. I still felt 'solid' despite the translucent appearance of my skin.

It was like time was frozen inside of the Camaro, I thought as I glanced around its interior. Everything was like it had been when Steve and I had driven it out to that abandoned auto shop. My sunglasses were still up on the dashboard. My cell phone stood in the cup holder near the gearshift. The pocketknife I kept in the glove box was exactly where I'd placed it. My wallet was on the floor beneath the passenger seat. The notepad I used to write down directions and information from phone calls lay open on the console. I'd used it on that day to scribble down the address of the auto shop we were sent to ambush.

I tore the piece of paper with that information off and crumpled it into a ball, and with a violent jerk of my arm I threw it into the back. The tears came fresh again, taking the pathways carved by my previous crying session as I angrily gripped the Camaro's steering wheel again. Damn that piece of paper, I thought. Damn what I'd written on it!

Biting my tongue again, I leaned over the console and fished my wallet from beneath the passenger's seat. The worn leather felt heavy in my hands as I stared at it for a moment. Then, with shaking fingers, I pulled it open.

The first thing I saw was a picture of my daughter.

I let out a sound that was something halfway between a whimper and a scream and tossed my wallet up onto the dashboard. Oh, God, how could I have not thought about the impact of my death on my Grace? Was I so consumed with Five-0 that I'd completely forgotten about my precious Grace? I hadn't even bothered to look to see if she was at the service!

Do I dare leave the solace of my Camaro to go find her? I asked myself, but then I thought about McGarrett. The poor guy probably already thought he was crazy for seeing me while he was speaking. I wasn't about to make it worse by showing up again.

So I made up my mind that I'd visit my daughter tonight, wherever she was. But until then, my plan was to lay my head on the steering wheel and cry.

So I did.

* * *

I don't know how long I sat like that, my forehead pressed up against the smooth leather of my Camaro's steering wheel, quietly sobbing to the machine as it stood sentinel around me. All I know is that I finally snapped out of it only because someone had opened the driver's side door.

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was, but with a smirk I turned towards him. "Even when I'm dead you won't let me drive my car, huh?"

McGarrett was, quite simply, speechless.

I looked up at him, raising my eyebrows. He stared back with a slack jaw and eyes that were raw from crying. His face drained to a sickly white color as I watched. So I shrugged and moved to get out of the car.

"Fine," I said in an amused tone. "If you're that upset about it, I guess I'll take the passenger seat, then."

"I've gone insane," was all Steve said in a distant voice. "Holy shit. I've gone insane."

I stood up. "No you haven't, babe," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched as if my touch startled him.

"Oh my God," he said in a wavering voice, looking at me with teary eyes all over again. "Oh my God, you're real, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I said, looking down at the ground. "Yeah, I'm real."

Suddenly, he had me in a death grip of a hug, his arms wrapped around my neck. My first reaction was to pull away, but instead I relaxed, realizing that he needed to know that I wasn't just a figment of his grief-shattered mind.

We were both suddenly crying together again, silent tears rolling down both our cheeks, our embrace temporarily destroying the barrier between the living and the dead…

[***]


	5. Chapter 5

Even my car seemed to be in mourning.

The Camaro started up with a sorrowful roar, the headlights flickering. It didn't sound as powerful as it usually did, and there was a low undertone of sadness thrumming along with the engine. Everything about it just seemed abnormally slow. Dare I even think it, the powerful machine seemed to have almost gained enough sentience to consciously know that its driver was dead…

Steve sat at the wheel, me in the passenger seat. He had finally collected himself enough to drive, and without a word I had slipped into the passenger's seat. I mean, I had nowhere I had to be, and I didn't exactly want to spend any more time on my own. I tried that the three days after I'd died. I hated every second I had to spend by myself.

He kept looking at me in the rearview, his eyes flicking from the road to stare at me, to the point where I began to fear for my life before I remembered that I didn't have to worry about that anymore. I glanced over at him.

"Keep your eyes on the damn road," I said. "I know I'm already dead, but I don't want you to be."

If he heard my remark, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel harder, and in a flat tone he asked, "Danny, why are you here?"

I wasn't sure how to respond. Why _was_ I there? I asked myself, chewing on my bottom lip. The flesh was becoming tender from the abuse, but I ignored it. I knew it wouldn't affect me for long.

I must have been quiet for too long, because Steve drew in a deep breath, and in a low, even voice, he said, "I deserve a place in hell for what I did to you."

I whipped around to stare at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I got you killed."

"Steven," I said. "I haven't blamed you for what happened for one second. And I never will. Don't do this to yourself."

"If I wasn't so paranoid, you'd still be alive!" Steve was physically shaking now, and the Camaro reflected his guidance with obvious uncertainty, and once again I caught myself wondering if the machine had achieved some level of sentience.

"It wasn't your fault I got shot," I responded in an even voice, reaching out towards the steering wheel.

"It was a bolt that fell from the rafters!" Steve exclaimed, pounding the wheel with one hand. My fingers brushed the leather as I prepared to take control of the car, but my partner somehow kept the Camaro in a straight line. "You got shot because I got scared of a _goddamned bolt!"_

"I got shot, Steven, because _I_ couldn't react fast enough to save myself!" The cry ripped from my throat with an almost painful intensity.

"If I hadn't turned around – "

"What if it had been another one of Black's guys, huh?" I cut him off with an angry growl. "If you hadn't turned around, and another guy came up behind you with a gun, that funeral would have probably been for BOTH of us!"

That shut him up.

"Listen to me," I said, voice weak. "Please. Listen to me when I tell you it wasn't your fault. You did what you were trained to do: react to everything as if it were a threat. Don't blame yourself for my death. Promise me you won't. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." Steve's voice was almost a whisper.

I thought maybe I should leave him alone after that, and I began to contemplate where I would go after I left the Camaro. But something must have alerted my partner of my intentions to leave, because when his eyes flicked to me in the rearview again, he suddenly got a panicked look on his face.

"Don't go," he said. "Don't. Don't go!"

I furrowed my brow. "How could you – "

"You started to fade," he said. "Please don't leave me again, Danny."

So I stayed put.

I had just assumed that McGarrett was going to drive to his own house, but much to my surprise, he completely blew past the exit that would take us back to his place.

"Babe," I said, twisting around in the seat to stare behind us. "You missed the turn."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I'm not going home yet."

"Not going home?"

"Stop echoing me," he said. "It's annoying _and_ kind of creepy."

I rolled my eyes. "Answer the question, McGarrett."

"I didn't hear you ask one."

"Where the hell are you going? There. I asked a question."

"Your place."

"My place?"

"You're doing it again."

"Steven…"

He drew in a breath before he shrugged. "I thought someone there would want to see you. If she can."

I was silent for a long moment. "Grace."

He nodded.

"Oh, man." I leaned forward, putting my fingers to my temple as I squeezed my eyes shut. Steve peered at me in the rearview, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"You don't have to if you're not ready," he said quickly, but I shook my head.

"If I don't try to visit her now, I'll lose my nerve," I said in a quiet voice.

* * *

I elected not to go up to the door right away. Instead, I leaned against my faithful Camaro while my partner slowly walked up to the door.

Steve paused a moment before going to knock on the door, throwing a last hesitant glance in my direction, silently asking me if I was, indeed, sure that I wanted to go through with this. I took a deep breath – though I didn't really need to – and gave a single nod as my answer.

He had told me that Grace was staying at our apartment until it was decided what would be done with her. Her mother (and my ex-wife) Rachel had flown out from Vegas to Hawaii as soon as she had been informed of my death, and she was currently residing in my apartment with my daughter. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Rachel and I hadn't exactly been on good terms… with our arguing over custody of Grace and all.

I hated the fact that I had died before I had a chance to reconcile with her.

Shaking those thoughts off, I looked back to Steve. I heard footsteps inside the house, close to the door, and a split second later, it opened.

"Hi, Grace," McGarrett said in a gentle voice.

Outlined in a warm golden light from within the house, her shoulders angled downward in grief, my daughter Grace stood. In one hand she clutched a bundle of cloth that I quickly recognized as the threadbareT-shirt I usually wore to bed. She looked up at Steve, and I could see the harsh stain of dried tears on her cheeks. I opened my mouth, wanting to cry out to her…

I didn't need to. Her gaze fell from my partner to lock on the Camaro, and with a sharp inhalation that shook her entire body, she screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

I obviously had a lot I had to learn about being dead. For one, I wasn't used to having my daughter become very scared at the sight of me. It hurt, in all honesty. Seeing her terrified face was enough to send a harsh stab of physical pain through my chest. Had I still been alive I probably would have thought I was having a heart attack of some sort.

"Grace," I coughed. "Grace, baby, it's me…"

Well, she had stopped screaming, and she didn't seem _as_ terrified as before. The initial shock had worn off, and Grace simply stared at me, _through_ me, with her head slightly tilted to the side. McGarrett stepped forward and placed a hand between her shoulder blades, his face twisted in worry as he looked down at the young girl. She simply stood in complete shock and silence as she tried to figure me out.

"Danno?" she asked in a voice that was so quiet, I wasn't entirely sure she had actually spoken my name.

"I'm here," I whispered back. I was frozen to the spot. I didn't want to scare her by moving forward, but every fiber of my ghostly being was screaming at me to go towards her and try to comfort her. I dug my fingers into the gap of the Camaro's hood to distract myself.

Grace was shaking her head and backing up, almost tripping as she sort of fell back through the doorway. McGarrett caught her with a strong arm braced against her back.

"Can you see him?" he breathed. Grace nodded, her eyes never leaving me. But her small response was enough to make Steve smile. I could almost hear his thoughts: _At least I now know I'm not going completely insane._

"Grace! Grace, what's wrong?" The worried voice came from within the doorway, and I heard frantic footsteps. A split second later, my ex-wife appeared in the doorway, pushing Steve aside so she could wrap Grace in her arms.

Rachel looked like she was actually upset by my passing, I noted with a smug grin. Her eyes were red and swollen, lacking any trace of makeup, and her hair hung haphazardly away from the bun she had tried to tame it with. Once again, I had to marvel at the display of sadness. Seriously. She hated me when I was alive, but now that I was dead, she was suddenly torn up?!

Grace stared straight ahead, her eyes still locked with mine. Her arms stayed down at her side as Rachel embraced her, her fingers working to twist my tattered grey shirt around her wrist. Rachel looked concernedly at her, and then she appeared to finally realize that McGarrett was standing beside her.

"Commander McGarrett," she said slowly, standing up. Steve met her eyes, lifting his chin a little bit as he did so. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I found something I thought Grace would like to see."

McGarrett always had a way of skirting around the truth without really lying about anything at the same time. It was a talent that I envied greatly, but it didn't seem to be working with Rachel. She obviously knew something was up. She hadn't looked over to where I was yet, so I wasn't quite sure if she could see me or not…

"That's very kind of you," Rachel said, "But I don't think now – "

"Can you see him, Mommy?" Grace asked in a faraway tone, cutting Rachel off. Her jaw slammed shut as she once again turned her attention to Grace, her eyebrows tilting upwards in worry.

"See who, darling?" she asked quietly, as if she were afraid of the answer.

Grace pointed to me. "Danno."

Rachel followed our daughter's fingers, her eyes locking on the Camaro. I braced for her reaction… but there was none. She blinked, and her expression turned dark.

"McGarrett," she said flatly. "I think you need to leave."

"What?" Steve's eyebrows shot up.

"I don't know what you told her," Rachel suddenly hissed, wrapping her arms around Grace protectively. "And I don't know what you showed her, but the last thing either of us needs right now is for her to think she's seeing her dead father."

"Hey!" I cried. "He ain't lying! I'm right here!"

Of course, she couldn't hear me. Grace could, however. She stared at me blankly again, as if she still didn't quite believe what she was seeing. I couldn't blame her. I was still having a hard time believing that I was truly dead.

"I didn't say anything," Steve said. "And I didn't show her anything. I just brought Danny – " He stopped, and glanced towards me. "He's _here,_ Rachel! I brought Danny here!"

Rachel put a hand up. "Please, Steve. Don't start with this."

"I'm not lying!" I'd never seen McGarrett so worked up, but his teeth were bared and he honestly looked like he was going to start crying. Again. "Damn it, Danny. Tell her you're here!"

"She can't hear me," I said quietly.

"Okay. Commander McGarrett, I don't care what you believe, or whether you think ghosts exist or not, but you damn well better keep it away from my daughter!" Rachel snapped. "Don't make this harder for her!"

"Rachel, I'm not making this up – "

With that, Rachel took Grace's hand and forcibly pulled her back into the doorway before slamming it in McGarrett's face.

Neither of us spoke for a few moments. Steve slunk away from the door, his shoulders drooping, as he took his place beside me. We both stood with our arms folded, silent as we stared at my former living place. He was upset. I could tell. His teeth worked over his bottom lip as his eyes looked blankly forward.

Me? I was just… sad. I wanted so badly to talk to Grace, but I guess my crazy ex had a point. No need to make this harder on her by showing up randomly.

"Goddamn it, Danny." McGarrett broke the silence in a flat tone. "Look what you've done to us…"

I don't know what it was about what he said, but it pissed me off. Maybe it was the way he spoke. Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was the fact that I was dead and couldn't even see my daughter. Maybe I'd finally realized that I was, indeed, dead. But I suddenly whipped around to glare at him, my hands working themselves into fists.

"It's not like I wanted to get shot," I suddenly snapped, shooting upright and pushing myself off of the Camaro. I couldn't stand to be around any of them right now. Just reminded me of what I'd left behind. Made my death feel more… final, I guess. "I didn't _want_ this, Steven!"

"Danny, that's not what I meant – "

His words fell on empty air, because I had already left.


End file.
